


Priests Do It On Their Knees

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Facial, Humanstuck, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Rimming, Rough Sex, frequent perspective changes, priest fetish, public-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This church is much more lenient with it's policies, certainly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Priests Do It On Their Knees

**Author's Note:**

> This is all porn with very little story at all, apologies.  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ

He’s so quiet. It kind of pisses you off, but you suppose that that’s the best you can expect from a man of the cloth when he’s on his hands and knees in a storage closet behind the alter.

He’s still wearing his robes, and he’s got the front of it pulled up and jammed between his teeth to try and muffle the moans that do make it to his lips. You keep fingering him, fluttering your fingers and biting the back of his neck like an animal. You know it bothers him when you leave marks people could see.

"You look good like this. Almost as good as when you’re on your knees for me." You mumble, licking the shell of his ear. He shudders, whimpering. "Imagine what the congregation would think, Kankri. What would the Father think? On your hands and knees, begging to be fucked like a dog.”

He shakes again, whining. You pull your hand back from him and shove your pants down. You press on his shoulders until his chin is on the floor and press into him, groaning softly. He’s always s tight and hot, and he just pushes against you for more. You yank his head back by his hair and lick his cheek.

"You like this, don’t you, Brother Smith?" You coo, rutting into him a little harder for effect. He loves it when you remind him how many rules he’s breaking by using the name given to him by his Order.

He nods, dropping the cloth in his mouth to pant and gasp at each thrust. “Yes, yes, oh god, mmph!” He reaches back to grab at your hips and can’t seem to talk after that.

"Didn’t Father James ever teach you not to use the lord’s name in vain?" You growl, reaching down to stroke his cock. He whines and bites his arm, nodding. For a man of the cloth, he sure had a kink for being talked bad to. "You gonna come for me, Kankri? Come on, come for me."

He shudders and makes a small, long moan as he comes, soiling the floor and squeezing around you. You waste no time in pulling out and standing, tossing your condom onto the floor. He looks up from his panting with half-lidded eyes.

"Suck me off, slut." You growl, looking down at him.

He scrambles to his knees and starts sucking you, bobbing his head and nearly gagging on your cock. You grip the back of his messy hair and move him on you, mumbling about how good he is, what a good little fucktoy he is for you, and he moans around your member as you do. His own dick is already starting to get hard again, and you grin at him, pulling him back and kissing his lips hard.

He looks like he wants to complain when you stop kissing him, but knows better. “You’re gettin off on this. Go on, touch yourself.”

He does, stroking himself hard and fast. Watching him, you probably won’t last all that long, so you go back to fucking his face. His moans are getting more and more needy around you, and you don’t even have to move him, just hold him still and buck your hips. You feel your release coiling in your gut and pull him off you slowly, then start stroking yourself, hissing as orgasm crashes over you.

He whines as you come on his face, in his hair, even a little on his robes, and his hand strokes himself faster, his mouth open to catch some of your jizz. You grunt and manage to hit his tongue, then fall back on the wall and pant.

"Mm, yeah, I changed my mind, chief. You look your best when you’re covered in come. Look at yourself. What if someone saw you?" You nearly snarl, fixing your pants. He whines, eyes squeezing shut as he bites his lip. "Look at me, Kankri. Look at me and tell me that you love it."

He opens his eyes and speaks, voice a breathy facsimile of what he uses when addressing the congregation. “I love it! I love when you use me, oh god, oh god I’m so close. I love being used, so much.”

Now you do snarl, crouching in front of him and glaring into his eyes. “Only by me. You’re only allowed to get like this from me. Understand?”

He nods, and you kiss him again. He moans and comes, hard, his free hand gripping your shirt.

You spend the better part of the night cleaning him and the closet up, then walk him home and promise to do it again sometime. He flushes and stutters, slamming the door in your face.


	2. Sing For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Sollux Captor, and if there's any reason you go to church, its to hear your boyfriend sing.

You slam his back into the wall and bite his neck, rutting your hips up against his. He groans through his teeth, keeping that pretty voice locked away, so you tangle a hand in his hair and yank back, hard.

”Cmon, ED, I wanna hear you sing.” You croon, licking the shell of his ear. He shivers and you nibble at the skin, tugging at his hair again.

He gasps and moans, quietly, and his hands on your shoulders get a little tighter. “S-sol, please, someone will hear.” He bites his full bottom lip and looks at you pleadingly.

You assent and lift his body until he has to wrap his legs around your waist to keep from falling, pulling the silky purple robe around his waist to do so. You stumble into a supply closet and press him into the wall, grinding your hips into his a few times. He moans, one hand slapped over his mouth.

You nibble at his collarbone and undo his pants. “I want to hear your voice, ED. You’re head of the choir for a reason, right?”

He nods, opening his mouth to speak and breaking off into a moan when your fingers wrap around his cock. He sounds beautiful, just like when he sings. You yank his pants down until they’re caught around his knees, and his long legs are tossed over your shoulders. You always thought it was kind of cute how he liked being bottom even though he’s taller than you; Not to mention older. You lick a stripe up his throat and fumble with a condom, still stroking him.

He gasps softly when you press two slick fingers to his entrance, looking at you as quizzically as he can in his state. “Y-you brought lube?”

You peck him on the lips, smiling. “Of course I did, ED. I’m not gonna hurt you. I love you.” You whisper the last part against his ear, probably not loud enough for him to hear over his labored breathing as you work your fingers in and out of him. You pour some of the jelly on yourself, and curse when it gets on your pants.

"God damn it."

He looks at you sharply. “D-don’t say, oh yes, yes.. That.” You rub a little harder at his prostate for that and he keens, falling against the door so hard his glasses fall off. After a few more minutes of teasing, he whines, hips bucking. “Sol, more, please more.”

You kiss his cheek and press into him to the hilt, not slowing down until you were in. He pants, not moving and gripping his robe so hard that you know it will get wrinkled… Again. You roll your hips, once, and he nods.

"Sing for me, darling." You coo, pulling out till just the tip is in and slamming forward in that way you know he loves.

He doesn’t disappoint, tossing his flushed face back to shout, begging for more, using his perfect tenor voice like you wanted him to. He feels good, and you tell him so, growl it in his ear and bite it into his skin. You start a steady rhythm, bending him nearly double, thank god for recreational swimmers’ bodies, and his moans get quieter.

"Mm, just think, ED, what if someone saw us?" You mumble, working on a hickey even his ridiculous scarf won’t hide. He mewls, shoving at his pants and getting one leg free. He pulls you closer, mumbling little phrases. "Louder, ED, tell me how much you like it."

He whines as you slow your pace, his cock twitching. He always came easily when you were at church. “I love it, so much! Y-your cock feels great, Sollux, please, I’m so close!”

You nibble at his bottom lip before kissing him full on the mouth and going back to your jarring, fast pace. You pull back to watch his face and stroke him, licking your lips. “Come for me, baby, cmon you pretty little slut, come on.”

He does, almost singing a high note as his dick spurts white streaks over the purple of his robe and his thighs twitch around your waist. You make your movements more gentle as he comes down from it, moaning softly, and kiss his neck, lick over the bites you’d left to try and soothe the redness.

"Good boy, you’re so fucking pretty ED, I love you." You mumble, and he whimpers, clinging to your shoulders. "What’s wrong?"

He just looks down, panting, and you think he’s going to complain about his robe like he has before, but when you follow his line of sight you see his problem: he’s still hard. “I-I can’t take it, don’t stop, please?”

You won’t last long if he keeps that up so you gently, ever so gently set him on his feet. He moves to kneel, already knowing where you’re headed, and pulls the condom off you quickly. You grip the back of his hair and push into his mouth, groaning when you reach the slight resistance of his throat. You move his mouth on you, mumbling to him, and he moans around you, his hand moving fast on his own dick. 

In maybe three minutes, you pull him off you with a pop and start stroking your self, dragging your tip over his sharp cheekbone and across his reddened lips while you grunt. Finally, finally, orgasm crashes over you, tearing through your muscles and making you slam a hand against the door to stay upright as you come on his face and in his mouth. He moans and keeps touching himself, and you yank at his hair a little more.

"Fuck, yeah, you look good like this, on your knees for me, covered in my come. Such a good little whore. You love when I fuck you senseless, come for me. Come on, I know you get off on this." You say, your voice sweeter than honey.

And he does, he comes, sobbing a moan. Maybe even sobbing, he’s done it before. Once he’s done, you lean down and kiss him softly, wiping his face and whispering in his ear, that he did so well, that you love him.

"L-love you too.." He whimpers, arms wrapping around your shoulders and making you hold him up. You kiss his face again and he relaxes into you.

You take him to your place, clean him up and pretty much pamper him. You can’t help it; He’s yours, and you want to keep him happy. He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, people liked it. That's great. I'm going to be sporadically adding to this little mini-AU as time goes on. The perspective will probably keep shifting, but I'll try and make sure it's obvious who's who without slowing down the story. The additions will also hopefully be longer and more fleshed out. Hope you enjoyed it~


	3. Too Close For Your Own Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's there. He's always there to watch you preach, though.

You hate this asshole. The way he sits in the front pew, even though he’s nearly seven feet tall and his hair adds almost a foot half the time. The way his stare cuts through you, and his eyes follow you for your entire sermon, icy and nearly purple. The way his face remains passive, while his kids alternately glare or zone out next to him. You’re pretty sure the younger one only comes to visit Karkat, but he’s never introduced himself and Karkat forbids you from speaking to any of his friends because he’s a little shit.

You hate him because you really, really wish you did, but instead you just like him more than you should.

You finish your sermon with a prayer, as usual, and walk away from the podium. He stands while his kids both bolt from the church, the taller one only pausing to smile at one of the Leijon girls.

You only notice he’s standing behind you when you turn and nearly walk into his chest.

"Hello, Mr. Makara." You say, using your practiced, calm voice. "I hope you enjoyed the sermon."

He smiles, and it should be terrible, wide and toothy and not very pleasant, but it looks good on his face. “You know I prefer more fire and brimstone, Father.” His smile turns into a straight grin when he says that.

You turn to watch the rest of the people exiting the church, catching sight of Kankri being ushered onto the steps by the older Ampora boy. Then, there’s no one in the building but you and he.

You sigh, pushing him at the chest before walking towards your office. He stays where he is, only turning to watch you walk, so you stop and look back at him. “Coming?”

He grins again. “So crude, for a man of the cloth. I’ll assume I don’t have to call you ‘Father’, then, eh Vantas?”

You snort. “I’d rather you didn’t, Makara.”

Neither of your speak as you move back to your office and lock the door behind yourselves. Then, he pushes you against the door and fairly shoves his tongue in your mouth. You’d usually scold him, but you’d be lying if you hadn’t been chomping at the bit for this since last week.

You’re a very… Lenient priest, to say the least. You try not to think about it, since you’re still faithful and you don’t do anything actually wrong.

Makara shoves his thigh between your legs and moves his mouth to your neck, licking and kissing gently at your skin. You would purr if you could. Your fingers brush through his mane of messy brown-black hair, tugging him away from your neck roughly.

"Enough. Suck me off." You say, ignoring the smudges of face paint at the edges of his face. He’s so easy to read.

He sinks to his knees and pulls your pants open. Even if he’s hard (he is, you know that because of how his too-impressive length was rutting into your hipbone a second ago) you’re not yet. 

He mouths at your cock wetly through your boxers, and you groan. His tongue is long, and he uses it too well for his own good, and soon enough he’s lapping up the underside of your dick and pulling your boxers down around your ankles. You let him, pulling your fingers through his hair and giving him little encouragements, little reminders that he’s being good and doing what you tell him to.

Not ask. He knows that well, and that’s what made him like you so much.

You groan and buck your hips shallowly against his mouth. He lets you, making exaggerated sucking noises that you’re embarrassed to admit turn you on so much. His fingers, gentle as ever, move under your thigh and lift your leg until it’s over his shoulder, and because of his height advantage on you (and everyone else, but you’re 5’3” on a good day), he just slings you over his shoulders and pulls off your cock with a pop.

Then, he looks up at you, his tongue lolled out of his mouth and a pleading little smile on his lips. “May I..?”

You flick him on the nose, think about calling him a bad dog, reconsider. “Finish your sentence, Makara. What do you want?”

"May I fuck you with my mouth?" He asks, and you get another glimpse into his past.

He’d come from Turkey, of all places, with rich skin and dark hair and a voice that made you shiver to your core, and it had only taken knowing of him for a month-skimming conversations as you passed, how the older ladies gossiped over the new judge in town, how they wondered why he raised goats if he seemed to dislike them so strongly, how his children had seemed to appear without any real reasoning behind them-and you had him in your hands, pliable like clay.

He was a sweet man, too. You like him, really, but his gaze is too much for you to read through your sermons properly. Often, after you’ve had your fun, he’ll daudle, and you’ll let him, and you don’t look into it because it isn’t important unless someone finds out.

"Yes." You say, only to have your voice fall apart into ragged moans and gasps as his sinful tongue starts to do as he’d promised.

Your eyes roll back, and you grind onto him, but he just groans, both his hands on your hips to hold you up, his tongue squirming deliciously in you. Your hands grip his hair, and then moves to stroke yourself quickly, gasping aloud and shaking. He groans again, then pulls back, and you take a breath to snap at him, but he speaks first.

"Can I fuck you?" He asks, his face flushed. "Please."

You gasp for a second, then shake your head no. “No. No, you have to make me come first, then ma—” Your voice falls into another moan, and you arch off the door.

He’s too good with his tongue. It only takes a few more moments and you come, hitting your abdomen and hand more than his face, which is good. You don’t want to have to look at that. He only stops when you push his head away weakly, and he keeps holding you up, lapping your come away with a pleased smile.

You catch your breath, thank god for your stamina, and pull him up to face you proper. Your mouths meet and join easily, and it’s almost intimate, even with the teeth and tongue and the very hot, very needy moan that it pulls from him.

"Now." You say, biting his ear, then his neck, making a mark you know he won’t want to hide anyway. "Fuck me."

He lays you back on your desk, clear from most of your things, your computer tucked away and your papers dealt with already. He keeps kissing you, pulling your shirt off the rest of the way, and your hands stay in his hair, because you really do like his hair, and there’s just so much of it that you can’t help grabbing it—

You pull away from him and hold the foreign object in front of both of your faces. It’s a paintbrush, you surmise, one of the large kinds meant for covering large spaces and certainly not meant to be hidden in someone’s hair.

"Makara." You say, still looking at the painting tool incredulously. "Why was this in your hair?"

He shrugs. “I painted yesterday. I guess.” He shrugs again, like that’s just a thing that happens to people.

You can’t help but laugh, and he does too, realizing a few seconds in that you’re not laughing at him, not in a mean-spirited way at least, and you let the brush fall to the floor so you can pull him back to your lips.

It only takes a bit of shuffling, and he’s got his pants down as low as he allows them, the bottle of lube hidden in your desk drawer open next to you as he pushes one, then two fingers into you. You moan when they brush your prostate, and he grins, proud of himself, and hits that spot a little harder.

You see stars, your dick twitching. Half of you would be content letting him finger-fuck you until you could only mumble his name and hope it came out right, but the other half wants to watch his face as he finishes.

You push his arm. “Come on, now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and only a few seconds later, he’s pressing the lubed head of his cock against your hole and you can’t help the tiny gasp you make as he slips in, slowly. You mewl and roll your hips insistently until he’s completely inside you, and you’re so full it almost hurts. He whimpers, and you realize that you’ve probably made him wait a little too long.

"Fuck me, Makara." You coo, cupping his cheeks.

His hand push at the backs of your knees, bending you nearly double, and you curse and scream moans as he fucks you, hard, into your desk. No build of momentum, no slow rolling to make you whine, just hard and fast and fantastic, spectacular.

He’s breathing hot on your neck, biting at your skin, and you only moan more at that, telling him to give you more, faster, something because you’re leaning just over the edge, but you need one final push, and you can tell by the little, stilted curses in his mother-tongue- mixed with a few ‘motherfucker’s as well, of course -that he’s nearly there as well, the scene in his mind and the scene you played with him already enough to get him there.

He pulls out of you and you could cry, but he flips you onto your stomach, and you give him a chorus of ‘yes, fuck yes’ as he hilts in you over and over, and, ah, there it is. His hand wraps around you and strokes, in time with his erratic thrusts as your come splatters on your desk and you just keen, humping his hand and shaking.

"Please, motherfucker, please." He pants in your ear, his hips twitching.

"Come for me."

He does, letting out a surprisingly quiet sigh, like he’s just relieved that it’s over. His hands stay on your hips, thumbs rubbing circles there and you feel a little boneless as he lifts you too-easily and falls into your desk chair. You sit in his lap and breathe.

Then, he speaks, and you’re only marginally surprised.

"This is more than sex."

You nod. “Yeah. We’re fucked.”

He laughs, softly. “That’s okay.”

"I think so. I don’t see why not."

"Yeah."

There isn’t much else to be said on the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title for this was 'Gay As A Motherfucker', but I was a little concerned I'd offend someone like that.


	4. Put Your Fucking Pants On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dates are hard when you haven't gone on one in more than two decades.

"Before I say anything else, put your fucking pants on." You say, leaning your shoulder on the door of your bedroom and listening for the sounds of your kids eavesdropping. Kankri doesn’t even live with you anymore and he comes over to snoop, it’s terrible, and it certainly makes planning secret dates with your gay lover harder than it already would be for a preacher of your renown.

Or, it would be, if you were a big-time preacher. You’re thankful that you aren’t. Even if you preach acceptance (or at least tolerance), you can’t expect your flock to follow that completely.

You hear a huff on the phone. “I am wearing pants.”

Oh god he sounds so offended, that’s adorable. “Okay, well, take them off and put on something nice. You’re taking me out tonight.”

It’s silent for long enough that you worry he’s hung up, then he sighs. “Are these things not discussed beforehand here?”

"Nope." You can feel yourself grinning, but you don’t care because that was not a no. "I’ll pick you up in an hour and a half, alright?"

He laughs and you feel like your insides turn to jelly. “Alright, motherfucker. Where are we going?” You can hear him shuffling things around.

"You’ll see. L-Talk later." You say, hanging up the phone before you can think about what you might have kind of started to say. Which you didn’t. At all.

The next hour is a blur of keeping Karkat entertained enough that you can take a shower, put on some nice clothes, shave, and consider telling him he can invite someone over if he wants. As stubborn and snappy as he is, he really does listen to what you say well enough. He’s a great kid, and you wish his mother could have met him.

You shake your head to clear it before you get emotional and walk in to tell him not to let anyone in and give him money for a pizza and a movie or two.

How long are dates even supposed to last, anymore?

You worry the entire drive over, but at least Makara is standing awkwardly in front of his gate, giving a death-stare to his herd of goats and hissing strings of what you assume to be Turkish curses at them. You beep your horn at him and he jumps slightly, then compacts himself into your car.

"Um, good evening." He mumbles, looking over at you and offering you a green carnation. "I apologize for not having a proper bouquet.."

You smile easily at him, taking the flower and sticking it to your mirror. “Thanks. Lets get going, huh? I’m starving.”

He nods and you ride in mostly quiet for a few minutes. Then, he asks about your kids and you end up ranting about Karkat’s grades and friends, and how Kankri is obviously having issues, but he won’t ask you for help even though beyond being his priest, you’re his father.

He nods agreeingly, which is a funny sight in hindsight. He always acts like he’s a much smaller man than he is. But you seem to do the opposite, so you think it evens out.

You get to the restaurant and sit inside. It’s nothing too special- you only have so much spending money, after all -but it’s not bad. Once you order, you sit quietly for a few more moments, before he stands and says he’s going to use the restroom.

You follow him a few minutes later and lean on the sink, sighing and crossing your arms.

"This was a stupid idea, wasn’t it?"

He looks like he wants to say something, but ends up just ruffling your hair. “I enjoy spending time in your company. I do not believe either of us is good at dating, though.” His hand slips down to cup your cheek and tilt your face up. “But the idea was very kind and not at all stupid.”

You smile and pull him down for a kiss by his shirtfront. “Thanks. Do you wanna leave? I mean, so far our ‘dates’ have gone pretty well without all this fuss…” You mumble, tracing his jaw and stepping closer.

He wraps an arm around your waist, grinning and pressing his face to your neck. “I would like that, but you said you are hungry.”

You laugh and kiss him again. “I lied. I’m still so nervous I couldn’t eat a bite.”

"You are nervous?" He asks, sounding concerned, his face pulling into a frown. "I… Forgive me, I apologize."

"It isn’t your fault. I mean, I set this thing up." You say, shrugging and playing with his messy hair. "Don’t worry about a thing, babe, I got this under control."

He looks like he doesn’t believe you, but just scoops you into a hug that leaves you holding onto his neck and giggling, your feet hanging off the ground. Then, he speaks against your ear, his voice low and as close to seductive as you imagine it can get.

"Kurloz and Gamzee are not home, you know."

After that, it’s just a matter of changing your orders to to-go orders, grabbing the take-out boxes and rushing into the car, laughing like teenagers. The drive to his house only takes ten minutes, but it’s long enough for you to worry you’re not talking enough.

"So um… Tell me about them. Gamzee and Kurloz, I mean." You say, watching a stoplight stay red longer than it should and tapping the steeringwheel.

He shifts a little in his seat and scratches his hair. “Well, there are not many things being said. Kurloz is twenty-three, and Gamzee is seventeen, though Karkat has probably told you that much.”

He hasn’t but you nod anyway.

"They are good boys. They like sweets." He smiles a little at that, like it’s an inside joke. "They are the best nephews I could have asked for."

You look over at him for a second, then back to the road. “Nephews? I thought they were your sons. They look so much like you.”

"No, my sister, she.. She had a lover when I lived in Turkey, and she had both of them while I was there. To save her honor as much as we could, and because she could not raise them alone, I took them in. The only reason they arrived after I did is from.. Uh, over-lays?" He doesn’t sound like he thinks that’s the right word, but he doesn’t correct himself. "I merely raised them. They are not my sons. What of yours? Your wife?"

You grip the wheel and hope he doesn’t notice, even though he notices some really small details for someone his size. “She died. In childbirth, with Karkat. I never really dated after her. I mean, for the last few years, I’d assumed that she was the only person I could ever feel that for.”

You leave it at that and he nods, reaching over to pat your knee. It goes quiet again, but you’re pulling up to his house. Thank god he lives away from other people.

"Makara, honey?" You purr, unbuckling yourself and moving closer to him.

He nods in response, licking his lips and flexing his fingers.

You drag your fingers down his front, pausing at his belt. “Take me to your room.”

He carries you inside, quite literally, not letting your feet touch the ground and very nearly tripping over a goat he fondly calls ‘Fucker’ as he shoos it away with one hand. You laugh against his shoulder, stroking his cheek until he continues inside, a slight flush on his skin.

That’s fucking adorable, you think, then you pull him into a kiss by the hair, biting his bottom lip and spreading your legs on either side of him as he holds you against the door, then opens it with a fumbling hand, still kissing you.

You wrap your legs around his waist and start unbuttoning his shirt, pulling back to breathe. “You better not think less of me for this, you know.” You bite his neck and he gasps, and you can almost feel him falling into his cute submissive attitude.

"Of course not." He nearly purrs, staying still until you push his shirt down his shoulders. "I could not ever think any but great of you."

You giggle and flick his nose. “You’re dumb. Kiss me again, Makara.”

He does so, his hands resting on your hips lightly, a reassuring weight. You suck on his tongue and undress quickly, feeling yourself grow more urgent. He pulls away from your lips minutely, his dark eyes half-lidded.

"May I touch you? Please, let me pleasure you."

You hum in agreement, falling back on his bed. It smells like him, you realize. A moment later you realize that it’s also sort of small for him, like the rest of his house. You would ask him but he’s already stroking your cock so you just remind yourself to ask him later, nearly purring as his lips move over your chest. He bites harshly just under your ribs and you gasp, sitting partway up and gripping his hair.

He looks up apologetically, pressing a gentle kiss to the smarting area. “Apologies mine.”

You take a moment to breathe and figure out what he’s saying, then smile and tug his hair again. “No, it’s good. Mark me, Makara.”

He grins and makes a matching mark on your other side, then laps at it, his hand still moving on you. You squirm and moan, arching your chest up to invite him into biting you more. He sinks his teeth into the middle of your chest and you moan again because you know he just growled. Maybe a second more of that you you come, shivering under him.

He kisses your neck and face, wiping his hand on the bedsheet and murmuring something you don’t understand to you until you catch your breath again.

"Okay. Okay, fuck me." You order, kissing him hard and sitting up. Then, you pause. "Wait, no, undress. I want to see you naked."

He looks curious but stands and undresses, folding his pants a little awkwardly over a desk chair you hadn’t noticed. His bedroom, you note, is actually much neater than you gave him credit for. Lots of paintings, though, all over the walls, all different kinds, too.

You look back just in time for him to drop his underwear and step back to the bed, biting his lip an looking somewhat reluctant. You scan his body and smile, noting more than a few tattoos and scars. Tracing one over his heart, you speak.

"Are you embarrassed?"

"No." He looks like he doesn’t really want to talk about it, but he still continues. "I am just unused to this… Position I am in. With you."

You nod and kiss him, one hand stroking his cock and the other still tracing the sort of bull-shaped mark on his chest. He sits back on his heels and watches you, his eyes closing slowly.

You bite your lip and keep it up for a minute, then pull your hand back and kiss him again, harder. After a second or two of that, you move to lay back on his bed again, hoping that you look good because this setting is way less, what’s the word, risque.

"Come on, Makara, fuck me." You purr, spreading your legs obscenely.

He smiles and leans over you to dig through his nightstand, eventually pulling out a good size bottle of lube and pouring a bit on his fingers. You keep your eyes on his face while he gets you ready. He looks focused, and it’s a good look on him. Though you are pretty worked up, so that probably sways the judgement in his favor.

He pulls his hand back of his own accord when your hips start moving against him, slow and smooth undulations you don’t recall thinking about. After lifting your legs a bit, he positions the head of his dick to push into you, but you place a hand on his chest.

"Wait."

He leans back immediately, and you flip onto your stomach on his bed, then lift your ass into the air and tuck one of his pillows under your chest. You let your head rest on the sheets and your hips wiggle a bit before you give him the go-ahead, glancing over your shoulder at him.

His hands slide from your ankles up, along the outsides of your legs, and continue up to your hips, pausing to squeeze your ass a little, then up your sides to your shoulders. His thumbs rub the back of your neck for a few moments and you sigh, any tension you may have had in your shoulders melting away, before his hands slip back down to your hips and he starts pushing in.

You’re mewling by the time he’s in completely, the angle making you see stars. He stays still for a moment, then moves, slower than you’re used to and hitting something that makes your breath catch. You groan and reach back, grabbing his wrist urgently.

"Kiss me, and fuck, faster, god.”

He follows both orders, kissing you skillfully and ramming his hips forward faster, fast enough that you can hear your skin slapping over your moans and curses.

It hardly takes five minutes before he’s begging you to come and you’re nearly there, gasping out a sharp command for him to jack you off. You come at almost the same time as him, probably a few moments before, and he lays on top of you.

You let him stay like that for a while, then jab him in the side. “Get off me, I can’t breathe.”

"If you could not breathe, you would be silent." He says, matter-of-factly, and continues laying on you.

You huff and jab him again, smiling. “Even so, you’re heavy.”

At that, he rolls over, looking annoyed but saying nothing. You hug him around the chest and start to relax, nearly asleep. He pets down your back and through your hair, cradling you to him.

"I can’t stay the night." You slur, pressing yourself closer.

He nods and pulls the blanket over you. “I know. You can rest?”

"Yeah. ‘m tired now, anyway." You yawn, smiling up at him and electing to ignore the fact that you feel a little sticky.

"I wonder why." He teases, kissing you again.

The front door slams open, then closed, and a voice that carries as well as breaks often calls through the house. “G, you home?!”

You both stiffen and he looks to you like you’ll know what to do. After maybe a second, you nod and dash into the bathroom, stooping to snatch your clothing off the floor and locking it behind you.

You can hear him shuffling around before he calls out to the kid in Turkish. The kid responds in the same language, and steps into the room, sounding questioning. Probably about your car being in the driveway. After a few more seconds of them talking, you clean yourself up as silently as you can and get dressed, hoping you can find your other sock when you come out of the bathroom.

Their voiced recede and you peek out the door. Seeing the room deserted- the blanket tossed over his bed and covering any evidence of you being there -you dash out and find your sock, then your shoes and pull them on, making yourself look presentable and sitting on the bed.

After a few more minutes, he walks back into the room, wearing a shirt and pants covered in paint. “Gamzee had a concern and had to return early.”

"No worries!" You say, sounding probably too bright and jumping up. "I should really get going, anyway…"

He catches you as you start walking past, gently turning you. “I.. I think I—”

You put a hand over his mouth. “At this time in my life, the feelings we probably have for each other aren’t safe… I appreciate them, though.” You smile a little at him.

"Why? Is seems it would be so much safer now, when we both have the things we need." He mumbles, and you can feel him pouting. "Not speaking changes not my feelings."

Well. He has you there. There isn’t much to lose. Karkat could care less who you’re with, as long as you don’t do anything couple-y around him, and you’ve actually gotten the feeling that Kankri feels sort of guilty about being anything but extremely gay. Which is stupid. Any of your church who feels like you aren’t fit to be a preacher can leave, and the few friends you have are Captor and Nitram, both of whom are queer as a three dollar bill.

So yeah. There isn’t really anything stopping you, aside from your own worries that he might stop feeling like that for you. Or that he might leave for another reason.

You shake your head and smile at him, feeling a few unfortunate tears fall down your cheeks. “Okay. I love you.”

He grins and lifts you in both his arms for a hug, kissing the side of your head. “You too. I will walk you to your vehicle.”

"Okay."

The rest of the night goes by pretty smoothly, with very little happening. You can feel yourself grinning all night, even while you’re sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard writing emotions when you have none.


	5. Green, All Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His father always gets to him, your poor Kurloz. At least you can comfort him when he needs you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made an rp blog for the Signless from this fic and fleshed the characters out. Signless is Chadox, GHB is Kurloz Sr., who goes by G because his nephew called him that and it just stuck.

"I love you, my darling. I love you, and your boys, and nothing is going to change that. Your father has shown that he knows absolutely shit all about that by saying what he did." You murmur, petting his cheek. "I know he’s your dad and I know you want so badly for him to like you, but he’s hurting you and them. Please, Kurloz, stop accepting his calls."

Kurloz huffs. He’s frowning in that angry-looking way that you’ve come to learn is just how he keeps from crying. You keep him close when he shifts.

Your poor boy. His breathing is stuttered and his eyes are that kind-of glassy they get when they’re full of tears. Gamzee is the one who had called you over, his voice quivering as he asked if you could maybe come over-and bring Karkat, if he didn’t mind coming with.

Kurloz the younger is gone, probably at the Captor boy’s house. Kankri offered to come with, but you told him the truth: if Kurloz needed him, he’d go there.

You’re so lost in kicking yourself for not having words for G that you jump when he speaks first.

"He said I was ruining them. That I was hurting, that I would hurt my boys." He croaks, and then there are tears on his face and you’re being clutched like a lifeline. You might be. He’s never been good at talking about any of this. "That you were manipulating me."

Hands in his hair, you tuck him up against yourself. “He’s wrong. Gamzee and Kurloz are getting exactly the love they need from you. You would never hurt them. I know you, and it would kill you if you did.”

He nods, smearing tears on your neck and shoulder. His clutching has shifted to just holding, loose. You make up for it, gripping him to keep him from shutting down, because it must hurt but you need him to talk to you. You need to know how to reassure him.

Softer, his voice makes your heart ache. “He said you would leave, like their father. Like he would have.”

"I’ll stay as long as you want me." The words are there instantly, because you adore him, you love him so much it hurts, but you’d leave if he told you to. "I swear, I won’t leave you unless you ask."

"I know." He sighs.

You stay that way for a while, with you stroking his hair and him catching his breath. You eventually get him to look at you, and kiss his forehead gently. He smiles this watery smile and pats the side of your face, then pulls you in to kiss him. Which is weird, because he nearly never initiates actual romantic or sexual touching, besides little chaste kisses, normally.  
But he’s biting at your lip just a little, his other hand shaking near your waist. Pulling back to look at him, you see that he’s got those same tears gathering.

Your heart hurts.

"Oh, oh G don’t cry, what’s wrong? Tell me, tell me how to fix it." You plead, wiping them from his face carefully. "Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong, love, my love."

G turns his head into your hand and squeezes your hip. “Don’t leave.”

"I won’t."

He pulls you closer, basically lifting you to set you into his lap. “I love you, don’t leave, keep touching me, please…”

"Not leaving, I’m right here. I’m here, G, I’m not going anywhere, shh." You coo, stroking his hair, kissing his cheek and tasting salt on your lips. "Tell me if you need anything, okay? I’m right here, G."

Kurloz nods, holding you close silently for a few moments. You almost don’t hear when he speaks, and then you blink owlishly at what he’s said.  
"You sure? We don’t need to be close like that." His lips at your neck and his hands under your shirt make you realize that he’s sure. Your poor G, your poor Kurloz. "Just let me take care of you, mm? Let me take care of you."

A quick nod from him, and you get him to lay back so you can lay over him. You keep moving slowly, kissing him like this is your only chance, and when you pull away he’s just that little bit breathless. His hands find their way to your waist again and you push them back onto the bed firmly.

"Just let me."

He mutters something in Turkish, and then you catch him in another kiss. By the time you decide to pull away and strip his shirt off, his cheeks are just barely flushed, and he groans at the bite you give his bottom lip. With his shirt on the floor, you smooth your hands over his chest, pressing little kisses to the skin of his neck and shoulders. He isn’t necessarily sensitive, but he’s told you that he likes the attentions that aftercare means, so you assume that skipping the part that leads to aftercare couldn’t hurt.

You press yourself against him, humming softly, some old lullaby Vanca used to sing for Kankri that always made him calm down. Briefly, you wonder how she’d feel about you using her trick on who has been called her replacement (those people are gross and wrong, anyway. Like you could replace someone, the idea itself is horrific). You think she’d laugh like she always did, and probably just want you to make him happy.

Best not think of that, though.

Only when he rolls his hips up do you pause in lavishing affections on his chest and neck, and then only for a second. His skin is warm under your fingers, and the surprised little gasp he makes when you ghost your fingers down his side is wonderful. Your fingers trace along his skin at the rise of his hipbone, dipping to where his waistband sits but not beyond.

You have to slip off of him to take his pants off, and he’s sitting half up to pull you back to him before you can kneel like you’d kind of planned on. His legs, though, settle on either side of yours on the edge of the bed, and you smile into the kiss.

Speaking of. The height difference between you makes kissing him like this something of a contortionist act, but he doesn’t seem to mind having to bend his neck to reach your lips when you shuffle out of your pants. This time, when his hands push under your shirt, you let them, catching his hand in yours and kissing his wrist.

His pulse is fast.

As much as you hate to, you have to leave him on the bed to dig through the nightstand and find the lube, and you contemplate trying to bother with one of his condoms (it would probably fall off, honestly). After a minute, you ask him to move more to the middle of the bed, and then climb up with him.

Very quiet, you tell him that he should get comfortable, and that you probably won’t really be able to reach him unless he wants to bend in half, and he nods. When he’s settled, you’re kneeling between his legs and he’s on his back, head turned to the side and face flushed. He’s really adorable like this, but you don’t say so.

His reaction is actually pretty surprising. You’re so used to him being silent besides the whispers of the stilted sort of conversations you have when you’re together or the hissed requests for more of whatever you’re doing to either tease or punish him that when he moans softly, you stop.

It isn’t that he sounds like a pornstar or anything, he’s still very quiet, but you think part of that is that Gamzee and Karkat are asleep across the hall. Still, the noises make you swallow hard, and he has to encourage you to move on already for you to stop prepping him.

Slow, always slow with him, like you’re showing him the kinds of things that you can do to him when he needs a safeword again. He’d been all blushes and stutters then, and even though you weren’t then interested in him beyond the fact that he was big and relatively submissive, you’d liked it.

Now, as your hips press against the backs of his thighs, you have to keep yourself from telling him to let you see his face, instead asking if he’ll look at you. He does, and you reward him with a roll of your hips, not pulling back. Your hands find his and he sighs this soft little sound when your fingers thread with his.

You keep moving like that, smooth little rolls of your hips, and he bites his bottom lip to keep quiet, hands squeezing yours now and then. You press yourself to him when you find a rhythm he likes, mouth at his neck, and he sighs another little noise. Between your abdomens, you can feel him brushing against the skin of your stomach and smearing some precum on your skin, but that’s fine. You can take a shower if you need to.

Voice low, you speak. “How’re you doing, loverboy?” You ask, using that little nickname he hates to keep him grounded, pull his mind out of ‘subspace’ in case he’s slipped into it.

"Green." He whispers, lifting himself to meet your movements. "All good, green.."

Kissing him is hard, but you manage with his collarbone. “Tell me if you want to stop.” You don’t use the word ‘need’, because he’s taken that as “tell me if you’re in too much physical pain and otherwise don’t” and you don’t want that.

He nods, squeezing your hands. “All green.”

A shift in your stance makes him choke on a louder noise, one hand leaving yours to slap over his mouth and his eyes going all wide. A pause, but he nods quickly, ‘keep going’, so you listen. You move against him again and he makes another strangled sound, his eyebrows pulling in the way they do when he likes something you’re doing but doesn’t want to or can’t say so.

This time when you find a rhythm, he’s left to just grip at the sheets with one hand, the other firmly over his mouth, and your newly free hands trace over his body reverently. You’ve never addressed it, but you’d worship him before your own god in a heartbeat, if he asked. You’d do anything he asked, you can’t imagine telling him no, and he doesn’t abuse the power you’ve unwittingly given him.

When your hand falls to stroke him he bucks, face heating, and you bite back a groan. His thighs are shivering just slightly, just enough that you can tickle your fingers over them and feel it, and he whimpers—holy shit you’ve just learned your new favorite sound—when you squeeze him.

Your mouth is dry, and all too suddenly, you feel your gut tightening, and just when you’re worried that you’re not going to be able to get him there with you, his hips jolt up and his shoulders push into the mattress, his head tipping back, and he’s gone, and you note that he smothers his noises with a pillow instead of just biting his lip.

You’ll have to remember how fucking cute that is when you’re over your own orgasm, though, because right now you’re just pulling him closer, kissing all over his face and neck and petting his shoulders, telling him that he’s wonderful, gorgeous, to relax and asking how he’s doing, partially out of habit.

Voice low and just that little bit rough, he responds, and you flush hotly, then kiss him slow and soft. He falls asleep quickly, his arms around you while you pet his hair away from his face.

It’s surprising, this experience. He’d almost never share that much with you, and he was loud, for him, and that he’d let you over him—which, to quote him, he’s never really done—it’s all just surprising. Not bad, though.

You eventually squirm from his grasp to get a cloth, clean him up as much as he’ll let you without grumping and pulling you into the bed again with his proportionate strength that you always forget about. Only when you’ve done what you can to take care of him (and peeked into the boys’ rooms to make sure Gamzee and Karkat were still sleeping and see if Kurloz had returned) do you lay down with him again and let yourself doze off.

You’ll block that asshole’s number when you wake up, while G is busy with something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha wow remember this shit???? I never stopped I just slowed down.


End file.
